


Don't Fear the Ripper

by shinealightonme



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Case Fic, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-11
Updated: 2009-12-11
Packaged: 2017-10-17 04:36:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/172970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinealightonme/pseuds/shinealightonme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>London, 1888: Dave and Emily team up to catch Jack the Ripper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Fear the Ripper

**Author's Note:**

> Written for smacky30 for the 2009 Criminal Minds Exchange Fest. Originally posted [on LJ](http://community.livejournal.com/cm_exchange/19162.html).

"Damn it," Hotch growled, slamming his fist against his desk and scaring a nearby copper. "These just keep getting worse."

"I hate those headlines," Dave agreed.

"The _bodies_ , Dave."

"They're pretty bad, too." It was hard for Dave to have his priorities in order when he'd been up half the night, standing in the cold, and the newspaper was smugly telling the world that he was a failure. " 'Devil Aprowl in Whitechapel: Scotland Yard helpless as killer claims two more victims' – how do they even come up with this stuff?"

"We need to be serious, Dave." Hotch turned the newspaper over to its less distracting side. "Have you been to the scenes?"

"Yeah, someone sent their kid to get me out of bed at three in the morning."

Hotch followed Dave's line of sight. "That's not a kid, that's Reid. He's a new recruit."

"Aaron, we've been friends for a long time, so just tell me you're joking now and I'll forgive you."

"I'm not joking." He wasn't, either. Of course, he always _sounded_ serious, but Dave had learned to tell the difference.

"I'm getting too old for this. I think it's time I retired, got a nice little cottage and a nice little wife in the country somewhere."

"Don't make any plans yet. You need to tell me about these bodies."

-

"Not much more to tell, really." JJ shrugged apologetically. "The body was already gone when I got there, and there was hardly any blood. Everything else about the scene looked...normal."

"What about the other scene?" Emily asked.

"That's where it gets unpleasant." JJ grimaced and pointed to a sketch of the bodies that looked like it might have mysteriously gone missing from a policeman's notebook.

Emily resisted the urge to wrinkle her nose and turn away, instead picking the sketch up for a better look. "I don't know what sets him off, but it must have been really bad last night," she muttered.

"No argument here. Though, from what I gathered, he hardly touched the first woman. He killed her, obviously, but not so viciously."

"This just gets weirder and weirder. Why would he kill two women?"

"I still don't get why he would kill _any_ ," JJ pointed out.

"But that's normal for him. Last night, he was acting strange even by his own standards. He must have had a reason."

"Right. Everyone has a reason for what they do. Except, apparently, Lord's daughters who hang around newspaper offices looking for scandals."

Emily shoved JJ lightly and spoke with mocking scorn, "I am not looking for _scandals_ , I am furthering my education."

"Right, because books are so uninformative."

"Books are static. News is alive."

"Alive, and full of death."

"This is bad," Emily sighed. "He's getting bold."

"He's always been bold."

"I don't know...Killing prostitutes in Whitechapel? That doesn't take a lot of courage. People have done that before without getting any special attention. This guy wants to stand out, so he pulls a crazy stunt like this..."

"And it works. So what's to stop him from doing it again? Or doing something crazier?"

"Nothing. He's just going to keep getting worse from now on."

"At least that's good news for the news. Do I have your permission to quote you on that?"

"Guess again, vulture."

"If I'm a vulture and you follow me around for scraps, what does that make you?"

Emily's smile was slightly pained. "An aristocrat."

-

The only good thing about the latest mess was that they might have gotten some eyewitnesses. Dave didn't know yet whether their information was any good – they'd had a fair number of people coming forward saying all kinds of things, because they were mistaken or wanted some attention or just liked to mess with coppers' heads – and he wasn't feeling lucky today, but it was a chance. Their witnesses tried to describe in more detail a man they'd only seen briefly in the dark to officers more patient than Dave.

Dave was doing his best to eavesdrop and didn't appreciate being interrupted.

"Sir?" He looked up to see the kid from the night before. Reid, Hotch had said his name was. He looked like a schoolboy who'd done something wrong and hoped nobody would notice.

"What?"

He cleared his throat and held out a sheet of paper. "I think there's something you should see."

Dave glanced at it, just long enough to tell what it was. Once he recognized it, he had to resist the urge to crumple it up and toss it out the window. "Do you know how many of those damn letters we've got?"

"I know, sir, I've been reading them – "

"Waste of your time," Dave scoffed. "They're just a bunch of crazies."

"Most likely," the kid conceded. "But there's always a chance that the real killer will contact us. I think he has."

He could humor the kid, or he could tell him to get lost and put up with Hotch later when he heard about it.

It wasn't a very long letter, after all. "Let me see that."

Dave didn't really start to pay attention until near the end of the letter. He stopped and re-read the troubling sentence again, to make sure that the imperfect grammar hadn't tricked him into misinterpreting it. It hadn't.

He mentally called up the image of Catherine Eddowes' body. He'd hardly noticed the small injury to her ear in favor of those done to the rest of her, but in the face of the letter's promise to "clip the lady's ears off," it didn't seem so insignificant after all.

"When did we get this?" he demanded.

"A few days ago," Reid answered.

He skipped down to the bottom of the page, to the sender's flippant signature.

"Any other letters from 'Jack the Ripper'?"

"No, sir, and none with that handwriting."

"Keep reading," Dave ordered. "You get anything else from this guy, bring it to me or Hotchner, got it?"

Reid nodded and ran off. Dave read the letter straight through and tried to figure if this made matters better or worse, or if it didn't matter after all. It could still be a hoax, and just a coincidence that the writer had mentioned cutting off ears. He wasn't sure he could take that chance, though.

"Hey, Hotch," he called out. "Got something to show you."

-

Emily couldn't say what drew her to these murders, but she wasn't the only one. All of London seemed to be turning its attention toward Whitechapel, and rumors were traveling faster than the wind. Most of them, she was sure, were complete nonsense, but the trick was picking out which were which.

"Okay," JJ flipped through her notebook. "Of the people I talked to today, opinion seems divided between whether the killer is a butcher, a crazy man, Mr. Thompson - "

"Who?"

"Apparently Jones the grocer really doesn't like his neighbor," JJ explained. "I've also got a few fire and brimstone types who think it's the work of a righteous man smiting the wicked."

"Oh, good," Emily commented wryly. "Nice to know everyone's being sensible about it."

"In the absence of information, people will speculate."

"Wildly."

"A bit far afield, yes."

"Isn't it your job to provide them with information?"

"Yes, once I've found it myself." JJ pulled a face. "For some reason, the cops don't want to cooperate with the newspapers."

"Don't you have other sources?"

JJ lifted her notebook. "Yes, and this is what they're giving me."

Emily paced for a minute. "Okay, so we get creative."

"What did you have in mind?"

Emily told her.

JJ stared. "You're a mad woman."

-

Their leads weren't getting them anywhere fast. The eye witnesses couldn't even agree on whether they had seen one man or more, let alone what the suspects looked like. The man who had sent the letter hadn't been kind enough to include an address of his own, so for now, all it did told Dave was that their killer liked to make fun of them.

That, and it had given him a name. "Jack the Ripper" had caught on in the office faster than Dave could have expected. It was going to leak to the rest of the city soon, and it annoyed the hell out of him to think that the killer was going to get the satisfaction of hearing his name on everyone's lips.

Since all else had failed them, the police went with the old standby: loiter and wait for someone to do something stupid. Which meant that, for the second night in a row, Dave was cold in the streets of Whitechapel rather than warm at home.

When they caught Jack, he was going to have a hell of a lot to answer for.

And they _were_ going to catch him, of that Dave had no doubt. He only doubted that they would catch him this way, sending an army of officers out on patrol without knowing what it was they were looking for. They could walk past Jack a hundred times without pausing.

Alternatively, they could scare him – or his potential victims – off completely. Which is why, despite Hotch's insisting that the police needed to take visible action, Dave thought it was stupid to be on patron in uniform. He wasn't here to make anyone _look_ good or _feel_ safe, he was here to be good and make the street safe, which is why he was skulking around Whitechapel in his most worn suit, a jacket and cap obscuring most of his features.

Dave hadn't lived in a neighborhood like this one since he was much younger, but he still remembered how to blend in. He watched the women, watched the men who watched the women, without much notice.

Eventually he found what he was looking for. There was a woman walking through the streets, seemingly aimlessly yet changing course whenever a uniformed officer came by. More importantly, she was being followed.

Dave kept his distance, waiting until the moment when the fellow tried something and incriminated himself. It was a long wait, though, and the longer he spent following the pair, the less time he spent looking other places: a dangerous risk if this wasn't the guy. He was starting to regret it when the lurker finally made his move and approached the woman.

Dave came closer, ready to step in.

The man spoke to the woman, who shook her head once, then again more vehemently. He reached for something – Dave leaned closer – and there was a glimmer of light off a blade. It was definitely a knife.

"Stop right there." Dave stepped closer to the pair. The man looked surprised, but not to the point of being alarmed.

"Can I help you?" The man's voice clearly implied the answer was "No."

"Step away from her."

The man hesitated, glancing back at the woman as though waiting for an order. That was when Dave was sure this wasn't his guy.

The woman seemed to realize his mistake at the same moment; she grinned at him, not particularly friendly, and asked, "Something the matter, _officer_?"

Dave bristled at the sting to his pride, but he'd already come this far. "This man bothering you?"

"No."

"Looked like he was."

"You must be mistaken."

"Then if he wasn't bothering you, he was trying to solicit you, and I'll have to bring you both in."

He hadn't planned on really arresting either of them, just rattling her cage in retribution. It worked; the most gratifying look of annoyance crossed her face.

The other man became worried and stepped back towards her, looking protective this time. "Miss, think what you're father would say."

Now Dave was _really_ thrown. " _Miss_?" Not exactly a term of address usually applied to prostitutes.

The woman sighed. "Ah, hell."

-

Emily glanced around the police station, equal parts curious and exasperated. She couldn't think why the cop had made good on his threat to bring them in; impersonation was really only a crime when you were using it to get something, which she certainly hadn't, and there was no way he could still think that Anderson was the Whitechapel killer.

Either this Rossi was just doing it to bother her, or he wasn't too bright.

"This way, miss," and yes, there was a definite note of mocking in his voice. So, he was a jerk then. She followed him into the room he'd indicated, which was at least better than having this conversation in front of the entire police force.

Her brilliant plan was looking a lot less brilliant than it had when she'd explained it to JJ.

"Have a seat." She thought of refusing, but that seemed a pointless rebellion. "You mind telling me what you were doing tonight?"

She mentally cursed at Anderson for blowing her cover. Rossi wouldn't have known who she was if he hadn't said anything. "What do you mean?"

"A woman of your station, wandering around Whitechapel late at night..."

"I was out for a walk."

"Dressed like that?"

She glared at him with more dignity than she really should have been able to summon at the moment. "You were also trying to conceal your identity," she reminded him.

"I was trying to blend in."

"And so was I! I thought I could learn more that way."

Rossi just stared at her. "You were trying to catch Jack the Ripper by going undercover as a prostitute."

"You had the same idea," she pointed out, then hastily added, " _Basically_ the same idea."

For a second, she thought he was going to smile, but alas, he kept a professional attitude. "It's my job," he countered. "What's your excuse?"

Emily shrugged. It wasn't a question she had an answer for, not even when she was the one asking. There wasn't any reason to let him know that, so she tried to sound mocking when she replied "Nothing better to do?"

The cop muttered something. Emily couldn't catch the words, but she was familiar with the tone. It gave her a chance to ask a question, at least. "Why 'Jack the Ripper'?"

"What?"

"You said 'Jack the Ripper'."

Judging from Rossi's reaction, she wasn't supposed to have noticed that. "Just a name."

"There must be a reason. Why not some other name? Why not the Whitechapel killer?"

Rossi glared at her. "Did you see anything tonight?"

"No, because some fool had to pull me in for questioning."

"I can have you arrested for interfering with an investigation," he warned her. "Don't think I won't just because of who your father is."

Emily almost wished he would, so she could see the looks on her parents' faces, but she could tell he was just trying to scare her. "Fine. I promise I won't do it again."

He saw through that one, though. "Sure you won't," and this time he smiled, just a bit. "What about your friend?"

"He works for my father, just came along to keep an eye on me. He was trying to convince me to leave when you came along." She hadn't wanted to bring him originally, but JJ had insisted she have someone with her if she was out looking for trouble, and Emily had admitted she had a point.

"It sounds like he's got the right idea," Rossi huffs, and Emily tried not to laugh. "If either of you happen to see anything while you're _not_ interfering with my investigation..."

"I'll let you know, should that somehow happen."

-

Dave let Emily go, hoping that would be the end of that. He didn't think it would be, though; he had a feeling she would do what she wanted, regardless of common sense or how it would make things more difficult for him.

It was late – or early, depending on how he looked at it – and he didn't want to head back out to Whitechapel again tonight, so he scrounged a cup of tea and went through old reports.

He knew he should go home, but the case wouldn't let him go that easily. They didn't know exactly how many women the Ripper had killed. They didn't know that he was the person he claimed to be. They didn't really know anything, and it was driving him crazy.

-

"So you're still alive," JJ greeted Emily the next morning.

"How about the rest of London?"

JJ shook her head. "No more bodies found. Though you probably would have heard about it before me."

"Maybe not. I got chased off by the cops."

"Are you going to try again?" JJ rolled her eyes and answered her own question, "Of course you are. I don't know why I asked."

"You can be sarcastic, or you can let me tell you what I heard last night."

JJ leaned forward, instantly at attention. "What?"

"Next time you question someone with the police, ask them about Jack the Ripper."

-

Reid brought Dave another message from the Ripper – a damn _postcard_ this time – but other than that, the week was uneventful. There were other crimes being committed that had to be investigated, other criminals to be arrested. To an outsider it would look as though everything were normal, but Dave wasn't fooled. It felt as though they were all just holding their breath until another body came up.

He hated waiting, and generally made other people hate waiting along with him.

"Dave," Hotch said reproachfully. "Either stop terrorizing people or find a more productive place to do it."

Dave was, occasionally, capable of taking good advice, so he took to patrolling Whitechapel instead of taking his frustration out on rookie officers. He kept his eyes open for anything odd and stopped to speak with people in case there was anything they knew that hadn't turned up yet. Mostly, there was not.

Walking around Whitechapel as often as he was, it was only a matter of time until he ran into her again. At least this time it was day, bright out and relatively safe. Her protector of the other night was nowhere to be seen; instead, a blonde woman with a notebook accompanied her.

"Not causing any trouble, I trust?" he called by way of greeting.

Emily smiled when she recognized him. "What would give you that idea, Detective Rossi?"

"I have an instinct about these things."

"Far be it for me to question a man's instincts," Emily deadpanned, before shifting her attention to her companion. "Detective Rossi, this is my friend, Jennifer Jareau."

"Not the Jennifer Jareau who keeps pestering my officers?" he asked as he shook her hand.

"Trying to get me to confess to something?" she tsked. "You'll have to do better than that to catch me."

Rossi looked from her to Emily. "I can see why you two get along."

-

Emily was a little thrown off when Detective Rossi chose to escort them through Whitechapel. At first, she thought he'd be a bother, or get in their way, but he was interested in the same thing they were: talking to people and seeing if there was any new information to find on the Ripper (or, barring that, just trying to gauge the public opinion). There were some people who were less inclined to talk when a cop was present, but those turned out to be the most entertaining interviews of all, as Rossi revealed himself to be a man who didn't back down from a challenge.

Once she was assured that he wasn't going to be a problem, she was mostly surprised to find him such good company.

Once she got used to _that_ , she was mostly annoyed by the knowing little smirks JJ kept shooting her way when Rossi's attention was elsewhere.

-

Two weeks after they had gotten the letter from Jack – now known all over London as the "Dear Boss" letter, thanks to a decision to publish it in hopes that someone would recognize the handwriting – Rossi had read it so many times that he could recite it. Sometimes he even saw it when his eyes were closed, complete with the smears of red ink (which he had been assured really was _just_ red ink). He knew there was something to be found from the letter, but he couldn't put his finger on what it was.

"Think about it another way," Emily advised, the next time he ran into her in Whitechapel. Not that 'ran into' was exactly the right phrase to use, not when he'd been half-looking for her every time he'd visited the neighborhood. "If you wrote a letter to the cops about someone you killed, how would you write it?"

"I can't imagine any circumstances where I would do something like that."

She shot him a look of mild disproval. "Humor me."

He thought about it again, but came to the same conclusion. "I wouldn't. Think about it, it's really just drawing attention towards you and giving the police clues. Not exactly what I'd do if I were trying to get away with murder."

She accepted that explanation. "All right, so either Jack doesn't care if he gets caught – "

"Unlikely – "

"He doesn't know any better – "

"Wouldn't rule that one out," Dave scoffed.

"Or he really just wants to rub it in your face that you haven't caught him yet, even if that makes him more vulnerable to being caught."

"Why would he care so much?"

"Maybe he just really doesn't like cops," Emily replied. "I can't say I disagree."

"We can't all be brilliant heiresses in need of a hobby."

They exchanged a glance, wordlessly declaring truce.

"So if he doesn't like cops," Dave revised his question, "Why not?"

"He doesn't like authority?" Emily suggested.

"Who does?"

"He doesn't like your uniforms. I know, that doesn't rule out anyone in the city."

Dave tried, "Maybe he had a bad experience with a cop."

"So why doesn't he kill cops?"

He mused on that for a while. "Prostitutes are easier targets. They can't fight back."

"That can't be it," Emily countered. "The state those women were found in? How much he hacked away at them? It's about the prostitutes, not the cops."

Lately, Dave wasn't even too sure of that. Trying to fathom the Ripper's mind was turning his own mind upside down. "So he doesn't like women, or he objects to them professionally."

"Oh, great," Emily laughed humorlessly. "It like the asylums finally got tired of trying to save the 'fallen women' and just decided to get rid of them."

Something clicked. "What did you say?"

-

Rossi ran off back to the police station with hardly a word of goodbye, so Emily decided to go over the letter again herself. She'd read it before, but it still gave her a sick feeling with how cheery Jack sounded as he wrote about killing and how confident he was that he wouldn't get caught.

Well, he would. She was determined to see it happen. And if it weren't really her job to make it happen, well, she'd find a way to anyway.

Her annoyance with Rossi for his sudden departure translated into annoyance with Jack for his poor grammar. For someone who took so much pride in what he did, she'd think he'd want to get the letter just right.

Still, she supposed that was as good as he could make it. Especially if he really lived in Whitechapel, which she thought was likely; her nighttime adventures had proven to her that blending in was harder than it first appeared to be.

"Hang on a minute," she muttered. "Whitechapel resident; not well educated; hates women, especially prostitutes..."

Trust Rossi to run off just before she had something important to say. She figured it was time to pay another visit to the police station.

-

Reid had given Dave a puzzled look when he asked for a list of all the prostitution reform institutions active in Whitechapel, but he'd managed to pull together a list of names and addresses fairly quickly. Maybe Dave could get used to having him around after all.

He'd hardly had time to glance at the list before Reid was back, poking his head into Dave's office.

"What?"

"You have a visitor," Reid informed him.

"Tell him to come back later," Dave snapped.

"That's not very nice, is it?" he heard Emily ask, a moment before she stepped past Reid and into his office.

"I'm sorry, miss – " Reid started.

"Don't bother," Dave dismissed him. "What, miss me already?"

"Didn't even notice you were gone until I wondered why it had suddenly gotten so much nicer out," she replied. "But then I had a theory I wanted to share, and JJ's busy working on another story."

"Oh, women and their excuses," he joked, and wondered if he'd pushed too far when Emily gave him an indecipherable look. "What's your theory?"

"Jack has a problem with prostitutes. What if it's personal? What if his mother was a prostitute?" She didn't give Dave a chance to interrupt. "We think he lives in Whitechapel and he's not too well educated, that would fit with growing up there in a poor home. No father, his mother's out working at night, what if he resented her for it?"

"And now he's taking it out on these women."

"Yes."

"It's possible," Dave started.

"I don't like the sound of that."

"Even if it's true, where does that get us?"

Emily frowned. "You were the one complaining we didn't know anything about this guy. Well, this is one more thing we know. If we figure out enough about him, we can catch him."

Dave felt himself getting pulled back into her line of thinking. "All right, so, what else?"

Emily tapped her fingers on her arm as she thought. "He's strong."

"He blends in."

"He's angry."

"Probably single," Dave mused. Emily looked at him, curious. "He's crazy and angry and he hates women. I can't really see him as being husband material."

"As opposed to people who are just obsessive and proud," Emily commented pointedly.

"Now's not the time to talk about yourself." That earned him a glare. "We're going to be too busy interviewing all the bachelors in Whitechapel."

"Well, what about your idea? You went racing off to find out about the reformists."

Dave showed her the list. "I'm going to pay a visit to the leaders of each group, see if they know anything."

"Good," Emily nodded and started to leave.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"I have a few sources of my own I'd like to talk to."

-

That was one great thing about knowing JJ, really; she introduced Emily to all sorts of people she would never have met otherwise. Mostly they were the sort that would cause Emily's mother didn't approve of her talking to, and once that would have been the appeal. Now, Emily just enjoyed meeting them because they were interesting.

One such person she'd met was the elderly Mrs. Woolgar, resident of Whitechapel and well known for being the neighborhood's biggest gossip.

Unfortunately, she couldn't come up with any names that matched Emily's description. Emily did her best to remain positive as she chatted up her other friends in the area, but she was frustrated. The day that had been so promising ended with no real results.

-

It occurred to Dave the next morning that he didn't know where Emily lived or how he could get in touch with her. They'd always met in Whitechapel, by chance at first and then more or less by design, as he kept finding her in the same places, as though she were waiting for him.

Of course, she could always come to Scotland Yard to look for him. She hadn't come back the night before, which he guessed meant that she hadn't found anything worth sharing. He hadn't done so well himself, but he wanted to get her opinion on what to do next.

The idea of taking the matter to Hotch or one of the other officers was a possibility he dismissed without much consideration.

He'd never met her in Whitechapel this early in the morning, but he remembered one other place she might be found.

"Excuse me, Ms. Jareau?"

Emily's reporter friend looked up from her desk. "Detective Rossi, good to see you again," she greeted him. "Is there something I can do for you? Or have you come for a front page interview?"

"Maybe some other time. Today, I was hoping you could tell me where I could find Emily."

Her expression underwent a subtle change that was gone before he could analyze it. "More business, or is this purely a social call?"

"Business only, I assure you."

"And yet, I find your words doubtful." She held up a hand to halt his protest. "She's probably at home; her mother likes to have breakfast with the family around this time." She told him the address.

"Thank you, miss."

"Oh, please. Call me JJ, all my friends do."

He raised an eyebrow. "I hadn't realized we were so close."

"We aren't yet." She grinned. "I have a feeling that's going to change."

Dave left, feeling a bit uneasy about the laughter in JJ's voice.

-

Dave Rossi was probably the last person Emily expected to find in her doorway that morning. If she were honest with herself, though, he was probably the person she was gladdest to see.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, sounding more abrupt than she had intended.

"Our friend JJ gave me your address."

There was an emphasis on JJ's nickname that made Emily long to track her down and demand what she had said to Dave. That would have to wait. "She did, did she?"

"I hope that's not a problem."

"Not at all. I'd invite you in, except..."

"Except?"

"I was just leaving."

"After you, then." Dave stepped back to let Emily through. "It's a nice house."

"Do you think so?" Emily commented absently. "It's a bit showy."

Dave must have picked up on her desire to change the subject, because the next thing he asked was, "Did you find anything from your sources yesterday?"

"I'm afraid not," she replied. "You were right; what we know – what we think we know – it's too vague to be of any real use."

"Maybe on its own," Dave handed her a new list. "But it could held narrow down a list of names."

Emily flipped through them, intrigued. "And these are?" she prompted.

"I talked to the organizers of the various institutes," he explained. "For the most part, they don't know their people personally, but they do keep records, including residence and marital status."

"So these are our single men in Whitechapel who try to reform prostitutes?"

"Exactly. Now we just need to find out about their mothers and their tempers."

Emily grinned, feeling the chase start again. "That, I can help you with."

-

Emily told him a bit about her source Mrs. Woolgar on the way, and made it fairly clear that she had no faith in Dave's ability to deal with normal people. "Just...be nice," she requested. "Try for charming; you can be charming, can't you?"

He tried to look hurt. "I'm always charming."

"Of course you are." She patted him condescendingly on the arm.

He managed to conduct himself in a completely acceptable manner and their conversation went smoothly. It was a simple matter to ask about specific names ("Oh yes, Tommy, grew up a few streets from here, took over the butcher's shop from his father," or, "That James is such quiet young man, a bit sickly ever since he was a child") and narrow their list down to one candidate.

"Michael Bartell?"

"He's an odd one," Mrs. Woolgar told them. "Of course, you can hardly blame him, growing up like he did. His mother was no better than she ought to be – you know the type," she paused meaningfully, and Dave traded glances with Emily.

"What about now? Does he ever get into fights, cause trouble?"

"Now that you mention it..."

They went through the rest of their names but found no others so promising as that one. After a hasty farewell and thanks to their host – perhaps a little too hasty; Emily's smirk accused him of failing to be charming – Dave stepped outside and looked around.

There were still officers patrolling Whitechapel, though it being so early in the day, not many of them were around. It took Dave a few minutes to track down an officer to send back to the Yard with a message for Hotch.

"What do we do now?" Emily asked, following behind him.

"Now?" Dave checked his gun. "We pay our friend a visit."

-

Emily was all in favor of checking on Bartell, of seeing if their ideas had come to anything real, but she didn't understand Dave's eagerness to dash in alone. "You can't go in there!" she whispered, hoping to avoid drawing the attention of anyone inside the building that Dave was currently trying to get into.

"Sure I can," he whispered back. " It's simple. Walk through the door and check if he's there."

"You said Hotch would be sending more officers soon," she reminded him. "Why can't you just wait for them?"

"If Michael isn't home, he'll find out later that Scotland Yard was looking for him. If he is the Ripper, he could run off and we wouldn't know where to look for him. I'm just going to check; if he's not here, I'll tell the reinforcements to disband."

"And if he is here?"

"Then we've got him."

"Fine." Emily looked both ways down the street, but no one had appeared in the last minute. "I'll follow right behind you."

Now Dave looked annoyed. "You stay out here."

"You're the one who thinks there's no harm in going inside," she pointed out. "And two against one is better odds, just in case." To emphasize her point, she pulled out her own handgun.

Dave stared at it for a long moment. "You have a gun." It was not quite a question.

"So do you."

"Yes, because I'm a detective."

"I guess I am too, now."

Dave looked down the street; possibly weighing the time it would take to argue with Emily against the time they had before Hotch's reinforcements showed up. "Fine. Be careful."

"That goes without saying, right?" She hesitated, then added anyway, "You be careful, too."

Michael didn't answer the knock on the door, but the lock was almost depressingly easy to open. They stepped into the flat, pausing a moment to adjust to how dark it was inside. The first room was empty, so they headed for the next.

Dave had barely set foot in the kitchen before a figure leapt out to tackle him. Emily stepped back, trying to make sense of the confusion, unwilling to aim her gun until she could be sure of not shooting Dave.

By the time the confusion had settled, the attacker was holding Dave at knifepoint.

"Drop the knife, Bartell," Dave ordered.

"You got no business being in my home," he snapped, not letting go of the knife.

"Michael Bartell?" Emily asked, and the man barely nodded in confirmation of his identity. "We're with Scotland Yard," she told him, which was more or less true. "If you'd just put the knife down, sir, we'd like to ask you a few questions."

"I haven't done anything."

"We are making inquiries of all residents in the area. We just need to know if you've seen or heard anything suspicious in the last few weeks."

Bartell seemed to buy it, lowering the knife. In response, Emily lowered her gun and Dave stepped away, more angry than injured.

"What kinds of suspicious things?" Bartell asked.

"You've heard about the killings in the area?" Dave asked, while Emily wondered what they were to do now.

Bartell turned away as he answered. "Everyone's heard of them."

"Sir, turn and face me," Dave told him. He didn't obey. "Turn around, now!"

When Bartell turned around, Emily could see he'd gotten another knife from somewhere. She didn't spare the matter much thought, raising her gun and aiming at him on instinct.

It didn't stop Bartell from leaping forward to attack, and Emily did the only thing she could: fired one shot, then another, and a third, until he stopped and fell to the floor.

Dave knelt to check on him, and announced, "He's dead."

Emily hoped she didn't look as shaken as she felt; judging by the concern on Dave's face, though, that was a vain hope.

A well-dressed man ran through the door a moment later. "Is everyone all right? We heard shots."

"We're fine, Hotch," Dave answered. "But the suspect didn't get off so easily."

Hotch nodded and turned to address the other officers who had arrived with him. "Our suspect in the Whitechapel killings in dead. We need to search this place and see if we can find anything to indicated that he was the murderer."

"Aside from the fact that he tried to kill us?" Dave pointed out.

"I think we've all thought about trying to kill you on occasion, Dave," Hotch replied, continuing more seriously, "We need to be thorough."

"Sounds reasonable," Emily commented.

Dave shook his head. "Who cares about reasonable? I want a drink."

Emily smiled at him. "That sounds good, too."

-

A week into his vacation, Dave decided he wasn't really cut out for life in the countryside. He missed the city too much.

Still, he was enjoying himself. It helped that Emily's parents' country house was a nice house. "Too showy," undoubtedly, but Dave wasn't complaining.

It helped more that he had Emily with him.

He liked to keep up on the news, so he wouldn't be completely in the dark whenever they went back to London. They bought a copy of the newspaper every day and enjoyed speculating what things JJ might be doing to investigate each story they read.

This particular morning, though, the newspaper only brought trouble.

"Jack the Ripper strikes again?" Emily read the headline aloud.

"That can't be right." They read the rest of the story. From the details provided, it certainly sounded the same as the other killings.

"It can't really be him," Dave said. "Everyone knows about the killings by know. Someone probably just wanted their share of the glory."

They contemplated the article in silence for a moment. Then:

"When is the next train to London?"

"11:30. You go round and buy us tickets, I'll take care of our luggage."

Emily left the room to start packing. Dave stared morosely at the newspaper.

"I just can't catch a break, can I?"  


  



End file.
